I Am A Slow Walker or Life in Galway

While attempting to read Ulysses by James Joyce, I realized that I had yet to properly blog about Galway, the actual city that I have been living in for the past month and a half, having apparently decided that the only blogworthy things were the times that I left. I deemed this a crisis, tossed the book aside (more like heaved really - have you tried casually tossing Ulysses? Ain't happening) and retrieved my computer.

So captive readers, what is it like you ask? Can I sum up this city in a few concise and witty paragraphs that leave you desperately searching for the soonest flight? (Although if the pictures of Connemara didn't have you blowing your life savings for a trip, you are probably a hard one to win.) Well, my primary observation is this: people walk inhumanly fast here. Like, there must be something in the water that just enables the citizens of Galway to move their legs twice as fast as us Americans while still maintaining the air of taking a leisurely stroll. Walking to lecture is depressingly reminiscent of gym class as I struggle desperately to make it within the allotted time, and watch as I am passed by hoards of people hardly giving a thought to their time or pacing. This was surprising to me because it was something I would have expected of New York or Los Angeles or London, with people anxiously trying to get from one place to the other, always rushing both to arrive on time to their important business meeting and to avoid getting harassed by all the homeless people on the street. Galway is not a big corporate city in the slightest. Even the roads themselves meander around, winding and changing direction without any care for efficiency. It is more than likely that no matter where you are going you will have to walk an extra kilometer (look at me talking metric) or so just because of the winding roads. This coupled with the interesting shops, the street performers and the beauty of the river and the ocean, makes it seem like a city that one should stroll through instead of rush.

Who wants to rush past this?

Luckily for me however, despite what the pace of my fellow students might suggest, most people are very relaxed about promptness here, especially lecturers. For someone who suffers from chronic tardiness, this is a blessing. No longer am I running to class wildly thinking through which excuse would be the most convincing (the number of times I have 'almost died on my scooter' is pretty alarming, my professors at USC must think I am a spastic klutz), but instead I can leave my apartment up to two or three minutes before class is scheduled to start and still be safely in my seat before the lecture begins.

I didn't take this photo, the internet did.

What is really best about Galway is simply how much is packed into a pretty small area. Unlike many of the other cities that friends of mine are currently studying in, Galway has no subway system or districts or even really distinct neighborhoods, and yet I don't feel that I am missing anything at all. Most of the action is centered around a street that runs through the city center that, except for early mornings when trucks are delivering goods to stores, is a pedestrian-only area. No matter the time of day or night, it is sure to be a lively place filled with people doing their errands, having coffee, playing music, attempting to get you to give money to their cause, and drunkenly stumbling from pub to pub or club to club. (This one generally occurs more towards the night time side of things.) Unlike in the US where it is almost as if buildings are too afraid to get close to each other, all of the shops are snugly packed in together, meaning that in these few blocks you can get everything you could ever want or need about three times over. Some days when I suddenly realize that I have been on facebook for a few hours too many, I will simply wander in and out of the shops and look at everything from clothes to antiques to chocolate to second hand books... the list goes on and on (alright, I mostly go to book shops, but what else is new).

But ah, the music. The music is what I came here for, and I can tell you that it does not disappoint. Galway is known for it's vast wealth of culture and traditional Irish arts, and it wasn't until I got here that I realized how much of a difference that makes. Coming from the Twin Cities, an area where it seems that everyone either knows someone in a local band or is in one themselves, I found it hard to imagine a place more "artsy" as you might say. However the difference is that the Twin Cities are a bit of an anomaly. Minneapolis is an "artsy" place to be, and people come just to be immersed in its music obsession. Here in Galway, and all throughout Ireland, music is a part of their culture. In fact, it seems more of an anomaly for someone to have no musical talent or knowledge whatsoever than vice versa. Music is so commonplace, that if you want to play traditional music, all you need to do is take your instrument and walk to one of the many pubs that hold regular sessions and you have yourself a group to play with. All music is appreciated, and the Irish are always happy to get a bit of music out of you, no matter what level you are at.

Which brings me to the biggest thing I have learned since being here: DON'T TELL SOMEONE YOU ARE A SINGER UNLESS YOU ARE READY TO STAND UP AND SING! I have been wrangled into giving a fair few impromptu concerts simply because I couldn't keep my mouth shut about music. At times I didn't even have to say anything at all, someone would have heard me singing along with  group, determined I was a singer, and then would call me out and force a song out of me. Although it was terrifying at first, it is actually a great deal of fun to sing for people that appreciate your music so much. It's like I am living this alternate life as Maddy the American Jazz Singer, and I am not especially excited to return to life as Maddy the Out of Work Actress/Student.

There is of course a lot more I could say about this city, but I am sure you are bored, and honestly this post has been sitting on my computer for ages, so I might as well go ahead and finish it. But FEAR NOT! I have a good many things to write about considering I am pretty much abysmal at keeping this blog updated. Until next time!

Slán go fóill
(I dare you to try and say that one out loud)
(It means goodbye)
(And actually it is relatively straight forward)

Some parting words of wisdom from a sugar packet

An Ode to Hiking Boots

Haphazardly I threw you in my pack,
a promise I was praying I would keep-
to carry added weight upon my back
in hopes that you would prove useful to me.
And here I stand, my ankles both intact,
and feet as dry as california sand,
despite a rather dumb impulsive act-
abandoning a trail for the marshland.
Up mountains, through the mud and puddles deep,
through forests full of thistles, thorns, and weeds,
and climbing over fences, chasing sheep,
you have been there to satisfy my needs.
Oh hiking boots, without you I am lost!
I shant abandon you for any cost!

In Which Ireland is Disgustingly Beautiful

OK, I know it has been about a thousand years since my last blog post, but I promise it has been on the top of my to do list EVERY WEEK!
It's just that I have been steering clear of my to do list and running around Ireland pretending that I have no responsibilities whatsoever. Which is fantastic for adventuring and exploration but terrible for having a clean room or complete homework or staying in touch with anyone not in my immediate vicinity.
BUT THAT IS CHANGING TONIGHT!
Because I have a paper to write and so I am doing everything in my power to avoid writing it.
And so I return to where I left off weeks ago - The Cliffs of Moher and the beauty of Ireland.
It really isn't fair that one country can be so unbelievably beautiful. From the cliffs to the mountains and lakes and valleys, everywhere I turn it seems is more incredible than the last place I looked. A few weeks ago, the International Student Society took us on a trip to the famous Cliffs of Moher and a tour of The Burren. I boarded the bus, generally unsure of what to expect. All I had heard previously was that the cliffs were breathtaking and unexplainable and amazing in the sunlight (which I despaired at given the statistical unlikeliness of that occurring). They were the Cliffs of Insanity in The Princess Bride, and the location of the horcrux in the 6th Harry Potter film, however this only gave me bits and pieces of what they were like, not a complete picture.
I am glad that I had such a foggy idea of where I was headed, because there is really no way to explain what they are like (which is obviously why I am trying to do just that in this blog post). Somehow we lucked out and the sun was shining brightly, glittering on the ocean as it crashed against the rocks hundreds of feet below us. The cliffs themselves stretch in either direction, seemingly forever, and peering over the edge it seems impossible that such a place could exist on Earth.

My camera captures the light and the color so well - it's like you're here with me!

We hiked along the edge, pausing every five steps to take picture after picture, trying in vain to capture the beauty surrounding us. There are greens that occur naturally here that I have never seen anywhere, in nature or otherwise. (And probably never will once I leave because of the terrible quality of my camera) We climbed over protective barriers, trudged through mud, and looked out across the ocean. There was even an element of excitement and danger as the wind picked up, threatening to throw us over the edge! What is adventure without EXTREME DANGER?

I'm not kidding. 

The next weekend a friend came to visit and so we took a tour of Connemara, a region in Western Ireland, otherwise known as the most disgustingly, atrociously, sickeningly gorgeous place I have ever seen in my entire life. It actually makes me angry how gorgeous it is because I can't look at all of it at the same time, I can't capture it on camera, and it isn't a man that I can marry. Once again our sacrifice to the weather gods must have appeased them because it was gloriously sunny. We drove through the countryside while our (crazy) driver pointed out landmarks such as fairy trees, fairy forts, ancient Friaries, and giant lakes. He drove us (like a maniac) through the mountains, (narrowly) avoiding the sheep that graze wherever they please. Once again, it didn't seem possible that we were on Earth. Middle Earth? Maybe. But not our planet. And definitely not Ireland.

Just past those mountains lies Mordor

The tour stopped at Kylemore Abbey, a castle that a man built for his wife because they loved the area so much (hint hint future husband), which was later transformed into a boarding school for girls/the daughters of celebrities. It had an incredible garden where I was able to impress everyone with my superior plant knowledge gained from my summers working in a plant nursery as well as a little chapel constantly playing eerily faint choral music and a mausoleum housing the bodies of a portion of the family that originally lived there. (As it turns out the wife didn't get to enjoy her castle much as she died tragically only a few years after its completion. I wouldn't make the same mistake.) While the Abbey was beautiful, what I wanted more than anything was to abandon the tour completely and run off into the mountains (which I actually did a few weeks later - stay tuned!) and have adventures with the woodland creatures that probably inhabited this area. If I suddenly found myself face to face with my 12 year old self like in that one terrible movie starring Bruce Willis, I would tell her to just hold on a few more years, because one day she would finally get to have all of those adventures she was reading about. Despite the fact that to the best of my knowledge I haven't saved the world yet, I have come closer to the adventure stories I always dreamed of than I ever believed possible. 

This was just before the trees picked us up and carried us up the mountain.

Perhaps the most striking thing about this place is how open everything is. There are ancient ruins everywhere, and the majority of them are not protected in any way, meaning that if you are curious and enjoy scrambling over broken rocks then you are pretty much good to go. When we were exploring the old friary I kept thinking over and over again how something like this couldn't possibly just be out in the open like it was. There was no entrance fee, nothing was behind glass or bars (ok a couple of staircases were locked off, but I am assuming safety had something to do with it), and if we wanted to climb all over some dead guy's tomb, all we had to do was figure out the best way to get up on to it. Back home there isn't even anything that old to begin with, and anything that is has been preserved in a museum, far from our dangerous curiosity and destructive hands. All I ever wanted when I was young was to get away from the informational placards and tour guides and just walk the halls of the historical buildings and pretend they were my castles in peace. 

So it only took ten years.